A Wife for a Westmoreland / Claiming His Royal Heir: A Wife for a Westmoreland. Brenda Jackson
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to his office to log on to his computer. The technician who had installed the video camera had told him he had access to the film from any computer anywhere with his IP address. This would be the first time he had reason to view the footage since the cameras had been installed.
A year ago his Westmoreland cousins from Montana had expanded their very successful horse-breeding and training business and had invited him, Jason and Zane to join as partners. Since all three were fine horsemen—although you couldn’t prove how good he was, considering what had happened on Monday—they had jumped at the chance to be included. In anticipation of the horses that would be arriving, they had decided to install cameras on all three of their properties to make sure horse thieves, which were known to pop up every so often in these parts, didn’t get any ideas about stealing from a Westmoreland.
Derringer hauled in a deep breath when the computer came to life and he typed in the code to get him to the video-camera channel and almost held his breath as he searched for the date he wanted. He then sat there, with his gaze glued to the computer screen, and waited with bated breath for something to show up.
It seemed it took forever before the lights of a vehicle came into view. The time indicated it wasn’t early afternoon, not quite dark, but there had been a thunderstorm brewing. He then recalled it had been raining something awful with thunder and lightning flashing all around. At one point the intensity of it had awakened him.
He squinted at the image, trying to make out the truck that turned into his yard in the torrential rain. It seemed the weather worsened and rain started to pour down on the earth the moment the vehicle pulled into his yard.
It took only a second to recall whose SUV was in focus and he could only lean back in his chair, not believing what he was seeing. The woman who got out of her truck, battling the weather before tackling the huge box on his porch by dragging it inside his place was none other than Lucia Conyers.
He shook his head trying to make heads or tails of what he was seeing. Okay, he had it now. He figured, for whatever reason, Lucia had come by—probably as a favor to Chloe—to check on him and had been kind enough to bring the box inside the house, out of the rain.
He sat there watching the computer screen, expecting her to come back out at any minute and then get in her truck and pull off. He figured once she left, another vehicle would drive up, and the occupant of that car would be the woman he’d slept with. But as he sat there for another twenty minutes or so viewing the screen, Lucia never came back out.
Lucia Conyers was his Puddin’ Tame?
Derringer shook his head, thinking that there was no way. He then decided to fast-forward the tape to five o’clock the next morning. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when a few minutes later he watched his front door open and Lucia ease out of it as if she was sneaking away from the scene of some crime. And she was wearing the same clothes she had on when she’d first arrived the night before. It was obvious she had dressed hurriedly and was moving rather quickly toward her SUV.
Damn. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t seeing it for himself. She was the one woman he would never have suspected, not in a million years. But from the evidence he’d gotten off his video camera, Lucia was the woman he had slept with. Lucia, his sister-in-law’s best friend. Lucia was innocent—at least his assumption of that had been right. His mystery lover had been Lucia, the woman who would shy away from him and act skittish whenever he came around her.
Last month he recalled hearing Chloe and his sisters tease her about this being the last year of her twenties and challenge her to write a list of everything she wanted to do before hitting the big three-oh. He couldn’t help wondering if she had added something outlandish like getting pregnant before her biological clock stopped ticking or ridding herself of her virginity.
Anger filled him, seeped through every pore in his body. Lucia Conyers had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. She better have a good reason for getting into bed with him that night two weeks ago.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number to his sister-in-law’s magazine.
“Simply Irresistible, may I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Lucia Conyers, please,” he said, trying to control his anger.
“Sorry, but Ms. Conyers just stepped out for lunch.”
“Did she say where she was going?” he asked.
The receptionist paused and then asked. “Who may I ask is calling?”
“This is Mr. Westmoreland.”
“Oh, Mr. Westmoreland, how are you? Your wife and baby were here a couple of days ago, and your daughter looks just like you.”
Derringer shook his head. Evidently the woman thought he was Ramsey, which was okay with him if he could get the information he wanted out of her.
“I take that as a compliment. Did Lucia say where she was going for lunch?”
“Yes, sir. She’s dining at McKay’s today.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Derringer hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair as an idea formed in his mind. He wouldn’t let her know he had found out the truth about her visit. He would let her assume that she had gotten away with it and that he didn’t have a clue that she was the woman who’d taken advantage of him that night.
And then when she least expected it, he would play his hand.
Three
Something, Lucia wasn’t sure exactly what, made her glance over her menu and look straight into the eyes of Derringer Westmoreland. She went completely still as he moved in fluid precision toward her, with an unreadable expression on his face.
Staring at him, taking him all in, all six-three of him, while broad shoulders flexed beneath a blue Western shirt, and a pair of jeans clung to him like a second layer of skin and showed the iron muscles in his thighs. And then there was his face, too handsome for words, with his medium-brown skin tone, dark coffee-colored eyes and firm and luscious-looking lips.
For the moment she couldn’t move; she was transfixed. A part of her wanted to get up quickly and run in another direction, but she felt glued to the chair. But that didn’t stop liquid heat from pooling between her thighs when her gaze locked onto his face and she looked at the same features she had seen almost two weeks ago in his bed.
Why was he here and approaching her table? Had he found her panties and figured out she was the woman who had left them behind? She swallowed, thinking there was no way he could have discovered her identity, but then she asked herself why else would he seek her out?
He finally came to a stop at her table and she nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She could swear his gaze was following her every movement. She swallowed again, thinking she had to be imagining things, and opened her mouth to speak. “Derringer? What are you doing here? Chloe mentioned you had taken a nasty fall a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yes, but a man has to eat sometime. I was told McKay’s serves the best potpie on Thursdays for lunch and there’s always a huge crowd. I saw you sitting over here alone and thought the least we can do is help the place out,” he said.
She was trying hard to follow him and not focus on the way his Adam’s apple moved with every word he said, as if it was on some sensuous beat. She lifted a brow. “Help the place out in what way?”
He gave her a smooth smile. “Freeing up a table by us sharing one.”
Lucia was trying really hard not to show any emotion—especially utter astonishment and disbelief—as well as not to let the menu she was holding fall to the floor. Had he just suggested that they share a table during lunch? Breathe the same air?
She was tempted to pick up the glass filled with ice water and drink the whole thing in one gulp.